Maybe the Odds Were in Our Favor
by thamockingjayandpeeta
Summary: **COMPLETE! Rated M** Shows the story of Peeta's return to 12 after getting treated in the Capitol. I don't think Peeta came back immediately in love w/ Katniss. The book says they had to find their way back to each other. This shows the journey they had to take. Sooo basically it's another Everllark story. :)


**I've got quite a few other Hunger Games stories written on this site: the 'Unwritten Moments series' (1-4) are under my account themockingjayandpeeta, along with a story called 'Real'. Thamockingjayandpeeta have a few Johanna/Gale stories called 'Lonely' and 'More Than Enough.'**

**I love reviews, so please feel free to leave them. I'm always open to suggestions and/or story ideas.**

**Thanks in advance!**

**PS: Is it REALLY necessary to say I don't own Hunger Games? If I did, it'd have ended it WAY differently.**

The man that came back to me was not the man I had fallen in love with. He was nothing but a shell of his former self, even in his looks. His hair was as blond as it had ever been, but his eyes… those astonishing yet haunted blue orbs could barely look up to meet my grey ones. He was thinner than before as well, but being tortured will do that to you.

I wasn't sure how he'd react to seeing me. Haymitch had clearly warned me that I needed to take my time.

"_Don't run up to him_," he had said to me. "_Let him approach you_."

We weren't one hundred percent sure if I would trigger a reaction, though we were pretty sure that I wouldn't.

Still, when he arrived in Victor's Village, Haymitch at his side, I couldn't help but say his name. It was a soft whisper, but the wind carried the sound to him.

"Peeta."

He looked up at me, briefly, for only a second, but it was enough for me to realize that he wasn't going to attempt to kill me. Not like last time.

Still, the look in his eyes was like a punch to my gut. His eyes looked so lost as they connected with mine. There was none of the love, the adoration that I was usually greeted with.

But at the realization that he wasn't going to kill me, I ran to him, forgetting everything Haymitch had told me only a few short hours ago. I wrapped my arms around him and buried my face in the crook of his neck. I choked out a sob when his arms slowly, so slowly wrapped around my body, hesitant, unconfident. I breathed in his scent, happy that despite everything he'd been through, he still smelled like Peeta. Even after nearly a year in the Capitol, he still smelled like pastries, and the woods.

I backed away from him and held him at arm's lengths so that I could look at him. He was so thin. When I slid my hands to Peeta's cheeks I noticed they weren't as full as they used to be.

Still, I kissed his lips softly, my heart hammering when he didn't immediately kiss me back. When he did, he was unsure, as if he wasn't convinced that he was supposed to be doing this.

It broke me heart.

"Let the boy breathe, sweetheart." Haymitch's voice bought me back to reality. I backed away from Peeta.

"Right." I kept backing away, keeping me eyes on Peeta, for all the good that it did. His eyes were back on the ground as he walked passed me, into his own house, along with Haymitch.

Once again, like I had been for the past year, I was alone.

**XXXXXX**

Peeta played nice with me, but as time passed, I started to think it was only because of Haymitch. Maybe he had told Peeta to be kind. He came around, but only for a few hours. He spent most of his time trying to help rebuild 12, particularly the bakery.

We had our fist incident at dinner, a month after his return. I had made dinner, but we were eating in silence, like we always did. It was uncomfortable, but I didn't care. Just the fact that he was here, alive, was enough for me.

He had finished his soup and stood up, thanking me. I had smiled at him, told him that he was welcome, and attempted to brush my fingers against his. I had just been so _desperate_ for some kind of contact, but I might as well have shot a bow through him. He jerked away, dropping his plate. The clatter reverberated in my ear and I barely heard his apologies.

"I'm so sorry," he was telling me. "Just… just don't. Don't touch me yet. I can't." It was the sorriest he'd ever looked, and for a moment I thought that it pained him to leave me in that moment. Still, he'd left me alone. He'd walked out, and when I bent down to pick up the pieces of the plate, I let the tears fall.

**XXXXXX**

I watched him through the window as he exited his house and made his way across the yard to my place, a plate in his hand. I noted how he didn't limp, not even with the prosthetic leg. It was crazy, insane, how the Capitol gave you the very best, even after putting you through the very worst.

On the surface he was whole.

On the inside… not so much.

I heard the knock on the door and took a deep breath. Then I stood up and made my way to the door. I opened it, and my breath caught in my throat.

"Hi," he said quietly. I could tell he was making an effort to look me in the eye.

"Hello."

"Y-you like cheese bread, right? Real or not real?"

"Real," I responded, trying to keep my voice level, because suddenly all I wanted to do cry. All I ever wanted to do was cry.

He looked so relieved that I nearly burst into tears.

"I thought you did. I just… couldn't remember for sure." He looked down at these words, no longer meeting my eye.

"It's okay, Peeta."

"No, it's not," he snapped out, looking at me again. "I know who I am. I can remember Haymitch, who's a drunk. I can remember my family, including my cold-hearted, abusive mother. I can remember every recipe passed down to me. But I can't remember you. I can't remember the girl I've been in love with since I was five years old. I watched myself tell you that story, in that cave, and had no memory of it. And I'm looking at you, I'm looking at this incredible woman in front of me, and I can't for the life of me figure out why you're here, or why you were waiting for me when I came back. What did I do to deserve you?" His voice cracked, actually cracked, so he took a deep breath to calm himself.

I stepped up to him, but did not touch him; the memory of yesterday still etched in my brain. "That's why we play 'Real or Not Real.' I don't care how tired you think I am of it. You ask me any question, as many times as you need to, until you start to remember. But don't ever think that you don't deserve me. You deserve a million times more than me. It's me who doesn't deserve you," I finished quietly.

He stared at me for a few moments. "I- I made you this, as a peace offering, for being so distant."

"You didn't have to do this," I told him, finally letting him in. "I understand."

Things got better after that, but not by much. He made more of an attempt to talk to me, but contact was always limited. He smiled more, and he wasn't as afraid to look at me. Yet we hardly spent more than a couple of hours in each other's company. He wanted his space, and I tried to give him that.

One night, about three months after he'd been back, he spoke.

"Katniss?" I always knew when he was about to ask me a Real or Not Real question. It was in the way he said my name. It was always a soft question, his voice lined with embarrassment. Depending on the question sometimes he couldn't even meet my eye.

This time, though, something seemed different. I braced myself.

"Yah?" I asked.

"Why… why'd you choose me? I know Gale went to District 2 but… why didn't you go with him?"

I stared at him. "It never even crossed my mind," I told him honestly. "I heard you two, back in 13, debating on which one of you I loved. You were trying to convince Gale I loved him, and he was trying to convince you I loved you. Then you asked how I'd choose. And Gale said—"

"You'd pick the one you can't survive without," finished Peeta. "I remember."

I nodded. "I was offended at the time, I think, but… Gale was right. I'd gotten a glimpse of how my life would be without you. When you were kidnapped… I was lost, Peeta. I was never as sure of myself like I was when you were there. Your innate sense of right and wrong… that hope that fills you… I need that. I needed that to survive. Aside from that… it was you. You were the one who burned that bread, on purpose, and saved my family from starving. It was always you. It just took me years to see it." _And now it might be too late_, I thought to myself.

And then the most brilliant thing happened: he actually reached across the table and grabbed my hand. He brushed his fingers across mine, and it was the softest, most gentle touch, and it was enough to sustain me for the next several months, because two days later he had his first flashback.

It wasn't bad in comparison to what we dealt with in the Capitol. Haymitch had told me that Peeta took medicine to help him control them. I knew he'd probably have flashbacks for the rest of his life, but the medicine was supposed to be able to alert him whenever he was about to have one.

It's funny—and by funny, I mean not funny—that we spend so little time together, and in the time we did spend, he had to have one.

We were sitting on his couch, watching television. Why we were at his place, I don't know. A change of scenery, we had said. He had volunteered to cook that night. Said I'd done enough and deserved a break. It was the first glimpse I'd gotten of the old Peeta. The sweet Peeta. _My_ Peeta.

We were sitting closer than we had in months, and it was taking everything in me not to rest my head against his shoulder. I didn't want to push him, or rush him. I knew how big of a step even this little progress was.

I don't even remember what was on TV, so I have no idea what triggered it. Sometimes we never know what triggers it.

Still, we were sitting there, and suddenly, he tensed. He sat straight up, and his breathing became labored.

"Peeta? What is it?"

"Go," was his only response. I sat there, frozen, looking at him.

"Peeta—"

"I mean it, Katniss, get out. Get out and don't come back." His voice was cold, and he wouldn't look at me. I wasn't sure if I should be afraid for myself, but I wasn't. I was more afraid for Peeta. He wasn't breathing properly, and all I could think about was what would happen if he had a heart attack. "Go. _Go_!"

It was his yell that brought me out of my stupor. I stood up and ran to my house, locking the door behind me. I leaned against the door, breathing hard, the tears threatening to fall. But I wouldn't cry. This was to be expected. I knew it'd only be a matter of time before he'd had one.

I just always thought I'd go through them with him.

He'd never shut me out before. Even when we gotten back from the 74th Hunger Games, and I'd broken his heart on that train ride home, he didn't shut me out. How was I supposed to handle this? What was I supposed to do?

It seemed like the boy who had loved me for so long, didn't love me anymore.

**XXXXXX**

He didn't seek me out for two weeks after his next flashback. He was embarrassed, and a little afraid. I knew him, did I not? He was afraid that I would be angry with him, and disappointed, but I wasn't.

I just wanted to comfort him.

On the fourteenth day of him avoiding me I finally went to his place. I banged on his door, calling out his name, like a crazy, deranged woman.

"Katniss, go home," he told me through the door.

"You open this door, Peeta Mallark, or I'll break it down."

"_Be patient with him_," Haymitch had said, but damn him, and damn that. "_He'll come around_."

But it'd been nearly six months, and it was still like he had just gotten back to 12.

So I was going to do things my way.

I kept banging on the door, calling his name, until he finally opened the door.

I was prepared to be angry, because I assumed when the door opened he wouldn't be looking at me.

I was wrong.

When the door opened his blue eyes stared into mine, and they were so full of turmoil that I literally felt my anger evaporate.

"Peeta," was all I was able to say, before looking down. Taking a deep breath I looked back up at him. "Can I please come in?"

He shook his head and looked down.

"I don't blame you," I whispered.

"I'm so scared, Katniss. What if I hurt you?"

I sighed. "You're taking medicine, Peeta."

"Still…."

"Stop running from me," I told him softly. "I know you don't remember everything about me. But I'm still me. Just try to get to know me again. Stop shutting me out."

Peeta blinked at me for several moments, and then finally moved aside to let me in.

**XXXXXX**

I was lying curled up next to Peeta—a rare occasion—a couple of months later. He was sleeping, his arm around my waist. I was dozing off myself when I thought I heard Peeta's door open.

"Well aren't you two a sight for sore eyes." My eyes flickered open and took in the appearance of Haymitch, a bottle in his hand. I tried to maneuver myself out of Peeta's grasp without waking him. When I succeeded, I motioned for Haymitch to follow me into the kitchen so that we wouldn't wake Peeta.

"What are you doing here?" I asked as we sat down at the table.

"Saw the boy's light on and thought he might still be up," shrugged Haymitch. He glanced towards the living room. "How's it going?"

I sighed and glanced back Peeta, barely making out Peeta's silhouette. "It's so hard, Haymitch," I breathed, looking back at Haymitch. "I mean I didn't think it'd be easy. It's just… I don't know who this Peeta is."

"He's still the same guy," Haymitch responded. "He just doesn't know how to act around you. The Capitol didn't change him. It changed how he felt about you."

"Isn't that the same thing?"

Haymitch considered me. "I guess in this case, it is. The boy's whole existence was you. I suppose now he is… lost."

"He didn't deserve it. If anybody doesn't deserve this, it's him. He didn't deserve to be left in that Arena." Maybe it was the way I said it, but Haymitch suddenly frowned.

"You're still mad at me."

I didn't pause. "If Peeta had died in the Capitol, I'd have killed you."

My voice was as cool as a cucumber, but I knew my eyes were hard.

"I don't doubt that, Girl on Fire." He smiled at me but I looked away. "How is he?"

I sighed. "He won't touch me. The only time I get to touch him is if he's sleep. It was his only compromise. He says if he's asleep he knows he can't hurt me." I could feel the tears coming. "Part of him wants to stay away, because he knows he can't hurt me if he's not with me. The other part of him is starting to realize that in distancing himself… _that's _hurting me. And then a third part of him is starting to fall for me again. I can see it. I can _feel_ it. I _know_ him. And he knows it. But instead of embracing it, he runs away." I shook my head. "I don't know what to do. I just wanna fix it. I just wanna fix him. But he won't let me."

"You have to give him time."

"I'll give him however long it takes. I don't care if this is how I have to spend the rest of my life. Because I get it: I get I don't deserve him. I don't deserve this second chance. My biggest fear is that Peeta won't love me again, that one day he'll wake up and realize he can do better than me, and he'll walk away from me forever." I felt the tears fall down my face. "And I'd deserve that. I'd deserve that because I don't deserve him."

"I don't know about that, sweetheart. Perhaps you've lived your million lifetimes."

I blinked at him. "You think I deserve Peeta?"

"I think you've grown up. I don't think you're as selfish as you used to be. I've watched you for the past six months push aside your own pain and try to do what's best for Peeta. He gonna realize that soon. He's just scared."

"He's never been afraid of me before. For so long we were all each other had."

"He's not afraid of you. He's afraid of hurting you. There's a difference."

"Well he needs to get over it. Because I'm not going anywhere. I just don't know how to make him see that. I don't care how many flashbacks he has. Doesn't he know that I know he'll have them for the rest of his life? I'm prepared for that." I wiped my eyes. "I don't know why I'm crying."

Haymitch leaned forward. "Sweetheart, when's the last time you got a good night's sleep?"

I laughed. "Sleep? I can't tell you the last time I had a good night's sleep. Before the 74th Reaping maybe?"

"You still get the nightmares?"

"Every night. The only time I didn't was…." My voice trailed off.

"When you slept with me," Peeta finished. If I had been anyone else, I'd probably have jumped out of my skin. Instead I stood up.

"I didn't hear you come in." He was leaning against the wall, his hands folded across his broad chest. He was looking better, filling out. Rebuilding 12 was certainly helping.

"Am I right? Did you used to sleep with me and it took away the nightmares? Real or not real?"

"Real," I answered automatically.

"I didn't know. I mean, I did know, somewhere down deep, I guess. I just didn't remember until right now."

"Don't apologize." We stared at each other for a few moments. He stepped up to me and lifted my face.

"You've been crying. Because of me."

"I just miss you," I whispered, my eyes welling with tears. Tired of crying I refused to let the tears fall. "I'll see you tomorrow." I left quickly, leaving the two of them alone.

**XXXXXX**

Peeta stared at Haymitch. "What do I do? I can't explain how badly I want to make things right between us. But that last flashback shook me. I don't ever want to hurt her."

"Peeta, I get that you're afraid. But you're a Victor. You've survived two Hunger Games, and being tortured in the Capitol. You can get through this without losing Katniss. You remember more than you think. We all heard her screams on the train during the Victory Tour. That only stopped when you two slept together. She has a temper. She always has. She's stubborn. Good with a bow. You'll get maybe one sentimental phrase from her a year. But she's never been as passionate about anything as she is when it comes to you.

"You should have heard the nightmares she had without you there comforting her. I never would have thought it was possible, seeing how she feels about you.

"You don't want to hurt her. I get it. But if you think not being around her isn't hurting her, you're a lot more damaged than I thought. Katniss needs you, just as much as you need her. Don't be like me." He gestured towards the bottle on the table. "I had no one. The Capitol took everyone from me. You two have been given a second chance. I've never known two Victors as willing to fight for each other. You two are two of the strongest people I know. But Katniss is reaching her breaking point. She doesn't know it, but I do. You have to remember she's alone. There is no Prim. Her mother is in 4. She has no one but you. She's close to snapping, and only you can stop that from happening."

"How? What do I do?"

"Be _you_." He said it like it was the simplest thing in the world. "She knows you're going to have flashbacks for the rest of your life. She's accepted that. She's prepared for that. That girl could have anybody she wants, and she finally wants you. You've been waiting your entire life for that girl to love you. Now you finally have her. A word of advice?" Haymitch paused and looked Peeta in the eye. "Keep her."

**XXXXXX**

When I came out of the forest the next day, headed home after a few hours of hunting, I found Peeta on my doorstep, sitting in the white rocking chair on my porch. When he noticed me he stood up.

"Hey," he said to me.

"Hi," I answered back.

"Why don't you get cleaned up and join me in my front yard when you're done?"

"Okay." I didn't question him. There was something different about him today. He seemed more confident than I had seen in months. I went inside, calmly, rationally, without looking back, but the second I was inside I threw my bow and arrow down and ran upstairs, stripping as I went. I wanted to shower and get cleaned up quickly, afraid that if I took too long Peeta would go back to how he'd been for the past six months.

I bathed, washed my hair, and changed as quickly as I ever had, braiding my hair in its usual braid as I made my way back downstairs. Before stepping outside I took a deep breath, not entirely sure of what I'd get once I opened my door.

I found Peeta literally in his front yard, on his hands and knees, digging.

"Peeta?"

He looked up at me and smiled. It was genuine, one I had only seen on a few and too rare occasions. "Hey," he said.

"What are you doing?"

"Planting primroses." I stared at him, the shock of his words stunning me into silence. I felt the tears immediately. I couldn't tell if it was from the sadness of losing Prim or the relief that what he was doing was so genuinely _Peeta_. He was back. My Peeta was back. "Would you like to help?" I nodded, as the tears fell down my face, making me unable to speak. I kneeled down next to him and he handed me a handful of seeds.

"Thank you," I said softly, wiping my eyes with my free hand.

"I'm sorry, Katniss," said Peeta, staring at me intently. "I forgot that I wasn't the only one hurting." I saw him hesitate, briefly, then reach out and brush my bangs back off of my face. "How is it you don't hate me?"

"Because I love you," I answered without thinking, but there wasn't a truer or better response. He smiled at me, smiled brilliantly, and I knew that even in that moment he had no idea the sun held no comparison to his brightness.

"I'm in love with you too, right? Real or not real?"

"That damn sure better be real."

"It is," he laughed, and then suddenly he grew serious. "It always has been."

We started to plant then, in silence. After several moments he called my name, in that soft, unique, underlying questioning tone.

"Yah?" I asked, looking up at him.

"Would you really have killed Haymitch if I didn't survive?"

"Yes. I was so _angry_ at him…." I scowled at the thought. "I get it now. I understand that there was a bigger picture. I don't know what you two had planned, but I was furious. We didn't talk for weeks. I felt betrayed. He had lied to me, and in the end I felt like he forced to me be the Mockingjay. Not forced," I said after thinking for a moment. "Tricked. I felt tricked and pressured. All they cared about was getting me out. Where did that leave you?" I sighed. "But really my anger at Haymitch was me deflecting the guilt I felt. We should have never split up. Not in a million years. I should have never left you."

"Did..." Peeta hesitated, took a deep breath, and then plunged on. "Did you really have a breakdown? While I was in the Capitol? Real or not real?"

"Real." I looked at him, registering the shock on his face. "When I found out you were tortured every time I did a propo or made a stand, I literally lost it. I think it was the deciding factor that made Coin finally decide to send in a rescue team."

He seemed thoughtful for a moment. "When did you know? When did you know you loved me back?"

"I think I always knew. That didn't mean I was ready to admit it," I shrugged. "The kiss in that cave…." I shook my head as I stared into his eyes. "I'd never felt anything like it. It scared me," I recalled honestly. "I was terrified. I didn't know what it meant. I'm not… emotional. When we got on that train, all I could think about was going home, and going home meant getting back to Gale. He was my best friend, and I felt that my loyalties lied with him. So I told you it was all an act. But when Gale and I kissed for the first time… I knew it didn't compare. It felt forced. With you… it felt right. But you gave me time. You let me figure it out…. And then there was the Victory Tour and all of a sudden I was thrust back into your presence. And you were still so kind, and sweet…." I paused as I planted more seeds. "Haymitch told me I didn't deserve you, and he was right. But somewhere along the way, I fell for you. I can't give you an exact date. All I know is that I walked into that Arena, prepared to give my life, so that you could live. And to me that is the ultimate sign of love."

"Katniss…." I loved the way he said my name. It never sounded as good coming from anybody else's lips. I saw the love in his eyes for the first time in over a year.

When he kissed me, I was unprepared. I don't even remember his face coming towards mine. But suddenly his soft lips were on mine, and it took a few moments for his touch to register. He pulled back before I got a chance to respond.

He stared at me, his eyes lit with uncertainty, trying to read me, and it dawned on me that my lack of response puzzled him.

"Peeta," was all I said before I kissed him back, fiercely, magnificently. I kissed him like I never had before, including that rainy night in the cave and that moment the sun started to set on the beach. I did feel that same hunger from the beach, the hunger I'd gotten a glimpse of in that cave, but this time I wasn't afraid.

When his tongue slid into my mouth I heard a noise that I never heard before from deep within my throat. Before I could register a response to that, he wrapped his arms around me and pulled me close to him. I found myself responding just as enthusiastically, wrapping my arms around his neck, my hands tugging his blond locks, my tongue sliding into his mouth.

When I bit his bottom lip he groaned and pulled away.

"I'm still a boy," Peeta said, his voice husky. I stared at him, confused. "I'm only eighteen, still hormonal, and if you keep kissing me like that I'll…."

He was breathing hard as he rested his forehead against mine. He eased back after a moment to stare into my eyes. I don't know what he saw in those few seconds, but he said,

"Do you want to—?"

"Yes," I interrupted quickly. He stood up, holding out his hand, and I grasped it. We made our way into his house, my heart hammering as he closed the door behind us.

He turned to me in that moment. "Aren't you… I mean… you're pure, aren't you? Real or not real?"

I laughed, mainly to keep myself from blushing. "Pure? It's not the 1800's anymore, Peeta, but yes."

"Well maybe we should wait until we get married."

I smiled. "I thought we were married. In a secret ceremony, right before the Quarter Quell."

He didn't smile back at me. "That was for the cameras. I really want to marry you. Would you marry me one day?"

"Real," I responded softly. "But if we're gonna get married, what's the point in waiting?" I stepped up to him and crushed my mouth to his. He seemed taken aback, but for only a moment before he wrapped his arms around me and kissed me back.

"Katniss," whispered Peeta, and it gave me goose bumps, the way he said it. As many times as he'd said my name, it had never sounded quite like that. I slid my hand into his and led him up to his bedroom as a way to show him that I wasn't only serious, but certain.

Inside his room Peeta shut the door.

"Are you sure?"

I turned around to face him, but instead of answering I lifted my shirt above my head and let it flutter to the floor.

"Do you remember telling me after the 74th Hunger Games to figure it out? To get back to you when I've decided how I felt? This is me telling you. You're it for me."

It's funny that this is the moment that I remember that moment. But what better way to prove to him how I feel than to throw those words back in his face? "There are no cameras. And this is not an act. This is real, Peeta."

That seemed to be all he needed then, so he walked up to me and kissed me until I got dizzy. Suddenly I felt inferior. So many people spent the last two years calling me the Girl on Fire, and not once did I ever acknowledge Peeta's own fire.

It was different from mine, and surely different from Gale's. Isn't that why I had told Gale I wanted Peeta? Because Gale had the same fire that burned in me?

But Peeta's fire… Peeta's fire didn't burn me. It lit me up, making me rise, like a Phoenix being reborn from the ashes. That's what he was doing: recreating me. Making me. Molding me.

Saving me.

Because how far gone was I by the time he got here? With Prim's death and his absence, how close was I to choosing the same route as Haymitch?

I was too close, but none of that mattered now.

Peeta was here, and he was kissing me, and it made me feel things I had no idea was possible. His hands cupped my face, and those hands; those calloused hands brushed my cheek. He ran his fingers through my hair, taking out my braid, his lips never leaving mine.

It wasn't until my knees gave out did he realize that perhaps I needed to come up for air.

Breathing hard I stared at him, noted the blazing look in his eyes. After a few deep gulps I pulled him to me and started kissing him again. Suddenly his hands were on my bra, and he unclasped it.

Abruptly I was embarrassed. Not enough to stop, but I could feel a flush creeping up my flesh. I'd never come close to doing this. I've been sure of many things in my life, but when it came to Peeta… I didn't always know how to act.

He seemed to sense my hesitation. He stopped and looked at me. "We don't have to do anything you don't want to, Katniss."

"I want to," I told him truthfully. "I just don't think it's fair that I'm half naked and you still have so many clothes on."

He smirked at me then started taking off his clothes. He started with his black shirt, and when he revealed the glorious muscle underneath it I realized just how good rebuilding 12 had done him. If Snow were alive I'd had send him a personal thank you for bombing my District. That's how good he looked.

"They say the entire country wants to sleep with you," I told him, my voice low. "Show me. Show me why they want you, Peeta."

"I will. For the rest of my life I will." He started to take off his pants but I stopped him, taking over. I would only get one first time, and I wanted to enjoy it. I undid his belt buckle and buttons and started to slide them down his hips. His breath caught in his throat, and I didn't know why until his boxers showed the tent in between his legs. I could feel a blush creeping up my cheeks, but I continued, lowering his pants until he could step out of them.

"Now I have on more clothes than you. How should we fix that?"

Peeta seemed completely in his element. For someone who'd nearly ignored me for the past six months, he sure seemed awfully sure of himself. And here I was, the former Mockingjay, key leader in the Rebellion, and I was acting _shy_.

Here I was, the Girl on Fire, melting at Peeta's touch.

I took off my shoes as he started taking off my pants. He seemed to be a lot more comfortable than I.

That is, until he got to my underwear.

His hands literally stopped at the top, and for the first time, he hesitated.

"Oh, come on," I teased, relieved that I wasn't the only one who was unsure of myself. "You unzipped Johanna's dress is three seconds flat."

He snickered at that, and that seemed to break the ice. He slid his fingers under the thin band of my underwear and slid them down. I stepped out of them and watched as he pulled down his shorts.

We stood in front of each other, taking the other in.

We took our time with each other, exploring. He learned ever curve, every line, every shape. He learned what made me take a sharp breath, what made me giggle, what made me moan, what made me shiver.

What made me beg.

He wasn't shy in the least, and by the time he was done with me, I no longer had the thought process to feel embarrassed.

Before he entered me, he looked down at me. "It's gonna hurt, you know."

"Peeta, you've never intentionally hurt me a day in my life."

"Yah, but this is inevitable."

In response I lifted my hips to his. "Make love to me, Peeta," was all I said.

I felt like I was being tortured. He was entering in and out of me at an abnormally slow pace, and I felt a tingle wash through ever inch of my body. Every place he touched made me sigh, every time he kissed me made me moan.

He took his time, waited until I felt comfortable, before he started to move inside of me.

The way he thrust into me made me forget everything except his name.

It was my first time, and I had no idea what to do, but I let my body take over. He was awakening this fire inside of me, and if I just lied there, surely I'd burn. After a few thrusts I knew I need to respond, and sure enough, as soon as my hips met his, that spark started to build, and finally explode. I cooled off after that, but only for a little while, before I felt the fire return, this time hotter than before.

I never knew I could fall in love with the heat.

When he whispered out 'Katniss,' just 'Katniss,' over and over again, I arched my back into his, tightened my legs around his waist, and clenched around him.

He gasped, grunted, buried his face into my neck, my name on his lips, his breath on my ear, and came, fiercely.

Afterwards, when I was lying on his chest, underneath the covers, our heartbeats returning to their original pace, he spoke.

"How could I ever forget you?" asked Peeta into the night.

I stared up at him. "It probably wasn't that hard. I was cruel, and selfish."

He tipped my chin up with his finger. "That is not real," he said seriously.

I smiled at him. "You always saw the very best in me," I responded. "But I strung you and Gale along, hurting both of you in my confusion."

"I don't blame you for that."

"You've never blamed me for anything."

"It's because I love you." He sounded sure, so sure of himself, surer than he had in months, but I still the say the word, this time more so for me.

"Real."

Later, when he's nearly asleep, and I could feel his heart beating in his chest, and my head rises and falls with his rhythm, I realize that this is the moment I've been waiting for: him breathing; him alive. And the fact that he's found it in himself to not only forgive me for everything, but to love me all over again, is nothing more than a plus, an extra gift.

The fact that he's breathing, and breathing next to me, is the greatest gift I've ever been given.

As if he was thinking along the same lines as me, he said, "I really would have died for you, that last day in the Arena in the 74th Games. I would have. I valued your life way more than I ever valued mine. When I found out that it'd all been act… some days I wished I _had_ died."

"Peeta," I whispered, sitting up, my eyes filling with tears.

"But I don't feel that way anymore," Peeta told me quickly, seeing how upset I was getting. "Everything I went through… to be here with you, right now, in this moment, made it worth it."

I shook my head. "When you were in the Capitol, I suddenly understood what my mother was going through. Suddenly I was a lot more sympathetic to what she went though when my dad died. Some days I didn't want to get up. Some days I questioned why I even had to wake up. I hated, absolutely hated not being with you. I'll never take you for granted again, Peeta."

"You know, when I told Caesar, the world, really, that you were pregnant in that Interview, it wasn't for us. It wasn't for the other Tributes. It was for you. I never expected them to cancel the Games. I was hoping they would spare you. I was hoping they'd say the Games were still on, but that you didn't have to participate. I was trying to save your life."

"You saved me, Peeta, in so many ways. I won't know how to always express myself. I won't always have the right words. I think better with a bow in my hand than I ever will with my heart on my sleeve. But I dread the woman I'd be if it weren't for you."

I stared at him tenderly for a few moments, but this time when he climbed on top of me and entered me, he wasn't as sweet, or gentle. He was… possessive, and I braced myself, wrapping my legs tighter around his waist. I clawed at his back as the orgasm ripped through me, and he shuddered when he came inside of me.

This became the basis of our lovemaking, and it fit us. We got to bite, scratch, pound, push, and pant. Sometimes—most of the time—I hardly recognized the sounds coming out of my mouth. The way my body reacted to him should have left me shame-faced.

As rough as it was, it was still filled with passion, and love, so much love. When it came to Peeta, everything was done with and for love.

That sweet, gentle, kind Peeta that climbed on top of me only existed after a flashback. I always caught a glimpse of the Peeta I had experienced during our first time after he had had an episode. It had taken him years to let me comfort him after a flashback. For the longest time he would shut me out, even after I had moved in with him. After we had gotten married, though, I put a stop to it. I told him that I was his wife, and he didn't get to distance himself from me.

One day, about a year after we'd been married, I refused to leave during a flashback. I watched as he tied himself up, his hands shaking, his eyes vacant, as he fought to make it pass. I waited for it to pass, and when it did, I untied him and forced him to look at me, to touch me, to love me.

That night had been the gentlest night we'd ever had.

We had gotten married in 12. I can't say it was a typical 12 wedding, as the entire world watched it. Effie had made sure of that. Though the Games were over, I was still the Mockingjay, and both Peeta and I had a loyal fan base. We were celebrities, and would be for the rest of our lives. Effie thought it'd be a good way to show that there was still hope, even after all the hurt.

So, we televised the wedding, refusing to get married in the Capitol, but sacrificing and making it public. We still kept it traditional with the burning of the bread, but the entire world got to witness it all.

For form's sake, we said it was a renewing of the vows ceremony.

Gale was there. As was Johanna, and Annie and Little Fin. Shortly after Peeta and I had started dating he suggested we started reaching out to people. Gale and I… well, we were never going to be the same, but we made do. Johanna, Annie and I actually became pretty good friends. So it was natural that they'd all be there. Plutarch performed the ceremony. Effie and Haymitch attended. All of 12 was allowed to witness it. My mother was there, too of course.

And Prim was with us in spirit.

Peeta proposed to me in a field full of primroses that he had planted.

I cried. Cried like a baby. It was more than the flowers, it was the fact that he had proposed to me with the same pearl he had given me on that beach, the pearl I had kept with me and shown to him, letting him know I still had it. He needed to see that, to know that, after he had had a particularly bad flashback.

He'd nearly broken up with me.

Things had been going so well. Too well, maybe. We were at his place. I'd practically moved in my then. I wasn't sure why we'd chosen his place as opposed to mine. Maybe because deep down my house reminded me so much of Prim. I'd barely touched anything in that house, and every time I stayed there, with or without Peeta, my nightmares were ten times worse.

So Peeta and I were living together, and one day during lunch, in the middle of a particularly incredible kiss, he tensed.

I knew that type of tense. By this time he had had a few flashbacks under his belt, so I'd known the symptoms. I saw the brief fear in his eyes, then the vacancy.

"Peeta." I don't know why I tried to talk him out of the flashbacks. Every single time he had one I attempted to make it go away. Normally I'd only try for a few moments, before his shouts of 'Go' finally convinced me to leave.

This time, however, I might have stayed too long.

I'd pleaded with him, childishly, as if that would really stop it, and then I had tried kissing him.

Bad idea.

The thing about Peeta's medicine is that he can control the impulses, but he can't always stop them. That's why he has to tie himself up.

"Get out," he had snapped at me. "Get out you, mutt!"

For the first time I wish he hadn't been on medication, because I knew he'd remember calling me that, and he'd be sick.

I was right.

He didn't talk to me for a month and a half. He didn't even give me the decency of telling me he wasn't talking to me. He told Haymitch to tell me. Then he shut himself in his—_our_—house, and refused to let me in.

Haymitch tried to reason with him, I tried to reason with him, but to no avail. The tears didn't work, the yelling didn't work, nothing worked. I couldn't even corner him at the bakery. He had some guy from town start running it.

I literally didn't see Peeta for a month and a half, with no contact.

So I did the only logical thing I could think of: I broke into his house. I was probably delirious. Every time Peeta disappeared I was plagued with nightmares and depressing thoughts of Prim. But a month and a half was the longest we'd ever gone, so I wouldn't be surprised at all if I was delirious. So one morning I woke up, wrapped up my hand in a towel, and made my way to Peeta's.

Haymitch was outside, drinking.

"Sweetheart, I don't like that look in your eye."

I had ignored him, marched up to Peeta's window, and smashed it in. I heard Haymitch yell but I had no idea what he was saying. I broke through the glass and felt my way around until I felt the lock. Unlocking the door I stepped inside.

I had expected the glass breaking to force Peeta to come downstairs, but I was wrong. I went upstairs and made my way to the bedroom. I hesitated outside of the door, suddenly unsure. A few seconds ago I had a mind to force my way into there, but now that I was here I had no idea what I'd find on the other side of that door. Taking a deep breath I opened it.

Peeta had turned his bedroom into an art studio. Canvases were everywhere, along with paint and brushes and all other sorts of art utensils. I stared in awe at the picture he was painting.

It was us. On that rooftop in the Capitol, staring into the sunset.

"It's not right," he muttered. "I can't get it. Still can't get it."

The fact that he could paint pictures of me but couldn't look me in the eye for a month in a half made me angry, but it also made me incredibly sad.

Suddenly he tensed. Not the same way he tensed when he was about to have a flashback. I'd noticed the way his body jerked whenever I came up behind him, or whenever he felt my presence. If I was behind him, like I was now, he'd slowly turn around, like he was doing now, and his eyes would brighten at the sight of me. If he had no idea I'd be there, surprise would sparkle in those gorgeous blue eyes.

When he turned around and faced me his eyes were guarded, the same way they were when he'd arrived nearly a year ago.

No. We were _not_ about to go backwards.

"How'd you get in here?" His voice hadn't been cold, but there was no warmth. He was talking to me as if I were a stranger on the street.

"I broke your window," I had told him.

He blinked at me. "You…?"

"Broke your window, yes," I had repeated.

"Why?"

"Why do you think, Peeta?" The way my voice snapped out seemed to shock us both. The room suddenly grew tense, so I started walking around, noting the litter and debris on the floor. Most of it was balled up pieces of paper, though there were scattered plates and cups around as well. When I got to the painting he was working on I stared at it. "It's beautiful."

"I can't seem to get the sunset right."

The fact that he was attempting to have a normal conversation had been a good sign. I looked at him but he kept his eyes on the painting.

"Peeta." He looked at me then, and his eyes were filled with remorse.

"We can't be together, Katniss."

He could have taken my own bow and turned it against me and it wouldn't have pierced me like those words.

I could have argued with him. Instead I had stood there as I listened to him as he explained that he couldn't do this to me, and what kind of life would we have if he always acted like that? I let it go on for a while, while he got it all out of his system, but after a while it started to get repetitive, so I shut him up with a kiss.

I don't think he even noticed me inching closer and closer, so of course he was surprised when our lips touched. Me? I was ready for it. My blood finally started pumping, my heart beating the way it was supposed to, at the contact.

"Katniss, don't," he had pleaded, but he didn't back away.

"I wanna show you something," I had said. I reached into my back pocket and pulled out two very important things. I handed the first item to him and he reluctantly took it.

I had watched his face closely as he unfolded the piece of paper, watched as he inhaled and forgot to exhale.

"You kept this?" He fingered the drawing he had made of me, in the 74th Hunger Games, his mouth slightly open.

"Along with this." I dropped a single, miniscule object into his now outstretched hand.

"The pearl."

All it took was the pearl dropping in his hand, and then we were all over each other.

After we were finished, much later, a tangled mess on the bed, I had turned to him. "There will be no more shutting me out, Peeta. If you need your space after a flashback, I'll understand. You need a day or two, okay. But that's all you get. Promise me. Promise me, Peeta, that you won't do this again."

He had promised, and six months later, after four flashbacks and he'd kept his word, he had proposed, in that field of primroses. I had happily obliged.

We planned the wedding, with Effie's help, in the midst of the Rebellion memorial. I had to give a speech. I was the Girl on Fire, the Mockingjay. It was a week- long event that took place in the Capitol. I hadn't been there in three years, Peeta in two, and of course it triggered a flashback. But, that was part of our life.

I still don't know how we got through that trip. I didn't understand how I was a hero to all the Districts, but they worshipped the ground I walked on. Fortunately Haymitch kept me humble.

After the memorial we headed back to 12 to continue planning the wedding. We only had a few more months to go so my mom came back with us until the wedding.

It was a beautiful ceremony, Haymitch standing as Peeta's best man, Effie as my Maid of Honor, my mother giving me away. I wore a beautiful ivory dress, though I couldn't help but wish that Cinna had been alive to make it. Still, Portia was magnificent, and after Peeta and I had burned the bread and kissed, and I'd pushed that magical button in my hand, our outfits burst into flames.

The crowd burst into applause, and I could hear Caesar yelling excitedly into the camera.

We honeymooned in 4, on the beach, for a week, where Peeta and I only left the beachside hotel so that he could paint pictures of me. I don't think he ever really slept. I can't say how many times I woke up to drawings of me while I was in bed, asleep after our lovemaking.

It took about a year for Peeta to ask me about children. I was shocked; because it was a discussion we'd had before we'd even gotten married.

I always thought the picture Annie had sent us of Finnick Junior triggered something in Peeta. We had decided to make a book of memories, to tell our story about the Games, so we started asking for pictures. Effie sent hers, as did my mother, and Gale, and Johanna. Peeta drew the pictures of Thresh, Rue, and Prim.

But something changed when Annie sent her picture of Fin. I caught him looking at it on several occasions, a tender expression on his face.

"Why do you want kids so badly?" I asked him after the tenth time he suggested it. We were in bed, naked and worn out, and all I had wanted to was drift off to sleep. But, he had asked. I don't know what made me count. Maybe because he only asked once a year.

"Why don't you want kids?" was his counter question. "There are no more Hunger Games."

"I'm so scared of losing people that I love, Peeta," I told him. "Plus, how do I even know if I'll be a good mother? I'm not exactly the most loving person in the world."

"You love me just fine," responded Peeta. I had no response to that. "Personally I think you'll be a great mom."

"How could you know that?"

"I watched you with Prim," he said simply, and I sucked in a breath, like I always did after her name was mentioned. Twelve years had passed and her death was still hard to swallow. "If anybody should be worried, it should be me," continued Peeta softly. "I was the one with the abusive mother."

I sat up then so I could get a good look at him. "You wouldn't touch a hair on our child's hair," I told him firmly. "Not in a million years."

He stared at me for several moments. "Thank you for that."

It took him another few years to convince me, but when I was thirty-two, I gave birth to a baby girl with dark locks and identical blue eyes that rivaled her father's. It took me holding her to love her, to really love her, and I'd never seen anything more beautiful, until her brother came along, a few years later, with his blond hair and grey eyes.

Willow didn't only share Peeta's eyes, but his personality. She was kind, and so innocent that it scared me. Rye was a lot more like me. He didn't trust easily, and he was a protector. They were both given my hunting skills and Peeta's art. Willow was a painter at heart, though she had a tendency to shoot the arrow right through the eye, just like me. Rye's speeches would rival even Peeta's. Both Willow and Rye were smart, and strong, but Rye inherited my temper. I still don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing.

Willow was a miniature Prim, with a little bit of Rue, in spirit. When she smiled, though, she was Peeta's twin, and her smile made my heart stop, just like her father's. Rye laughed just like Peeta's father, and quickly showed us that he had baking skills.

The two siblings loved each other, and worked well together. Rye would bake the bread and Willow would decorate the cakes. They always came out perfect, but they were learning from the best.

It was hard explaining the Games to them, even with the story, but they were not horrified like I always feared. They were in awe of us, shocked that their parents were famous and key factors in the Rebellion.

Rye had said, "I never knew my parents were _cool_. This is awesome!"

When we finally told them, they were a lot more sympathetic to Peeta's flashbacks. They had been scared before, until they realized Daddy would never hurt them. He would always make sure of that.

Hearing Peeta explain about his flashbacks was one of the most gut-wrenching things I'd ever had to witness.

Still, we were happy. I had gotten the family I hadn't had since my father's death, and Peeta had finally seen what it was like to have a real family.

He was a natural.

He wasn't the boy I had fallen in love with in the Games. No, the Capitol had changed him. They had shaken him, but his love had come back ten times stronger. They had never taken away his light, only dimmed it. And when he was finally able to restore himself, he became my dandelion in the spring, regardless of the season.

Years later, in retrospect, as I sat at my window in 12, watching my children grow up, I thought of Effie's words, so many years ago, and found them to be true. I hadn't known it then, had never thought it'd be possible, but the odds were indeed in our favor.


End file.
